The Hidden Empress Stripping Her Secrets After Divorce novel Chapter 533

Christian's fingers slowly tightened into a white-knuckled fist. Would he have done it? He honestly didn't know. He had never once stopped to consider it.

Liam stood up and clapped a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Christian, stop torturing yourself. Just drink."

The guys clinked their glasses together and knocked back their drinks. The heavy tension in the room began to dissipate, replaced by loud, boisterous banter. Bear started bragging about the latest model he was hooking up with, Liam launched into a story about a massive corporate merger he had just closed, and another buddy raved about his brand-new sports car. Christian remained slumped on the sofa, listening passively. He forced a hollow laugh every now and then, constantly refilling his glass. But his eyes remained completely dead.

Paris, the 11th District. Inside room 401 of a run-down apartment building.

Lyra Langford sat on the edge of her bed, the harsh glow of her phone screen illuminating her face. She wasn't scrolling through social media; she was staring at an encrypted messaging app. Someone had just leaked her a set of high-resolution photos. They showed the locked-down plaza opposite The Eiffel Tower, the sprawling stage, the red carpet, the endless sea of roses. And standing right in the middle of it all was the man in the navy suit. Sebastian.

She stared at the images until her eyes burned. A suffocating wave of bitterness washed over her as she realized that in her entire life, no one had ever done anything remotely like this for her. No grand proposal. No blinding diamond. No roses, no fireworks. Her entire existence had been defined by cold, calculated manipulation, brutal exploitation, and filthy, backroom deals. She locked her phone, collapsed onto the mattress, and stared blankly up at the cracked ceiling.

Her phone buzzed against the sheets. She snatched it up. Another message from the anonymous number.

[The night of the gala, the Duke was locked in a private upstairs suite for over an hour. People walking by heard certain sounds coming from inside. You know what I mean. Afterwards, the woman in your photos had to be practically carried out of the room. Her legs were shaking so badly she couldn't stand.]

Lyra's pupils dilated in sheer horror. The woman they were talking about was Lydia Langford—her sister. Her hands began to shake violently. A chilling memory flashed through her mind—Evelyn cornering her at that exact gala, warning her in a hushed tone, "You need to find your sister. I think she's in trouble." Lyra had completely brushed it off at the time, too obsessed with watching Genevieve's public breakdown. When she finally did try to look for Lydia later, the upper floors had been heavily guarded, barring her entry. She had bribed a passing waitress to snoop around, but the girl had only returned to say, "The lady has already left. She was escorted out by the Duke's private security." Lyra had falsely assumed Lydia was perfectly fine.

But now, she knew the horrifying truth. Hot, stinging tears spilled over her lashes, tracking down her pale cheeks. Her mind was flooded with memories of Lydia as a little girl, running after her with her hair in bouncy pigtails, her school uniform slightly oversized, constantly calling out for her. She remembered the day she had boarded the plane to leave the country, how Lydia had clung to her in the terminal, sobbing uncontrollably.

Her phone buzzed a second time. Another text from the anonymous sender.

[Leon is awake. Do you want to go see him?]